Running From Time
by Chocoegg333
Summary: A companion one-shot to 'Time in a Bottle' detailing the life of one of the more elusive and yet-to-be-defined characters. Peter/OC Rated T for some swearing and themes.
1. Chapter 1

***Peeks head around corner* Hello? Is anyone out there?**

 **This may sound like a joke as it is long overdue, but I'm sorry to anyone who still cares about Time in a Bottle that this upload took so long. All I can say is that school kicked me in the ass last fall semester, and I was extremely lacking in the inspiration and motivation department. Don't feel obligated to read this if you've long since given up on its upload; just know that it is here now.**

 **To any newcomers, welcome! This is a one-shot (series? trilogy?) that somewhat takes place within the perimeters of my story 'Time in a Bottle'. It isn't necessary for you to have read my other story involving Nora and Peter, but if you want to its on my profile :)**

 **Anyways, enough talk: read on.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of the canonical X-Men Characters or storylines. Those belong to their original creators and Fox Searchlight Pictures.**

 ***All dialogue spoken in italics—by the sisters—is French.**

* * *

 _Paris, France. 1347._

"Mais non, _please, Danielle! Please wake up!"_ Nora pleaded to her sibling. _"I'm sorry! We should not have- I should have listened to you—it was too dangerous!"_

She clenched her sister's shirt in her tiny fists, sobbing into her chest.

 _"Please!"_ she cried. _"You cannot just leave me like this! You said we would stay together!"_

Nora could feel her head starting to hurt. Sparks fizzled across her body; bright spots danced across her vision. This was new; an unknown experience that frightened her.

She was alone in this—without her sister. What would she do without Danielle? Danielle always knew what to do…

Hugging on to her sister's body, Nora's prayers were answered as she felt movement beneath her.

 _"I am here, sister."_ Danielle's eyes flickered open as she spoke those words.

As they held hands, bodies spilling into rays of golden light, Nora knew that they would always be together.

* * *

 _Brooklyn General Hospital, New York. September, 1961._

"Blood pressure and heart rate are rising, Doctor!"

"This head wound won't clean itself, Nurse!"

"Will someone get our anesthetist in here?!"

"And where did you say you found these two?"

"Um…" Timothy Walker gulped nervously. "Well, you see… I was just walking home—sprinting actually 'cause I'd forgot a raincoat. …And, well, then there was this big flash! Like… like lightning.."

"So the two naked children just _appeared_ out of thin air."

"...Yes? One had wrapped a coat around the other. I gave my blazer to the smaller child."

"Uh huh..." The police officer tapped his chin thoughtfully. He hadn't seen anything like this before. Walker was a young man well-known in the community for his kind heart and tardy habits— _not_ pedophiliac activity.

On the other side of the building, in the recovery wing, Nora shivered despite the blanket and warm clothes she had been given.

"Would you like something to drink, sweetheart?"

The girl looked up from her own lap. Thinking for a moment, she then shook her head nervously.

"Are you sure?" The same nurse (Greyson was her name) who had put the strange _IV_ in her arm asked Nora.

Nora nodded. She had passed out when the IV was put in, but not because of the pain—which was what everyone had assumed. It had really happened because of the shock of receiving copies of all the memories Nurse Greyson had ever possessed.

"May I..." She tried out the english language once more. "May I see my sister?"

The nurse smiled pityingly. "She's not awake yet..."

Nora's face fell.

The nurse reconsidered, "but I'll take you to her."

Danielle also had a tube sticking out of her arm. There were bandages around her forehead, and a number of bandaids covering her many scratches.

 _Band-aid._ A word Nora had received from Nurse Greyson's vast vocabulary. They were temporary bandages that stuck to you like sap—though Nora knew it hurt more to have sap removed!

She waited at Danielle's side for many rotations of the clock. ( _Clock:_ a much more efficient way of keeping time.) Just as the third rotation passed, Danielle fluttered back into consciousness.

Nora held her hand the entire time, and the moment she felt it shift out of her grasp she was fully awake again.

"Danielle!" She cried out, keeping her voice low as to not draw attention. _"You're awake!"_ Nora felt like crying, she was so relieved.

Danielle was alive, thanks to the magical medicine and kind-heartedness of these future people. Nora pressed her face into her sister's chest, crushing her with a strong hug.

 _"I'm so sorry,"_ she murmured fiercely. _"So sorry..."_ She repeated the phrase over and over again, her words disappearing all together.

The lights shone brightly into Danielle's eyes; she had to squint. The strange clothes covering her body rustled as she moved to sit up. An object in the corner kept making that _horrible_ noise as she did so; her head spun into a loop as Danielle pressed her back into the bed frame.

She looked to her left and saw Nora practically sobbing her apologies. Danielle remembered what had happened and knew that Nora felt responsible.

It wasn't her fault.

 _"Shhhh..."_ Danielle slurred, still woozy from the anesthetics she was on. _"Not your… fault..."_

Nora sniffed, slowly lifting her head up. Danielle wiped away a tear with one hand before letting it fall on her shoulder.

When Nora had held Danielle's hand before she'd awoken, the transfer of memories from sister to sister had been small—almost unrecognizable. They had practically spent every day of their lives together (excluding the two years before Nora's birth), and knew each other very well.

 _"Where… where are we?"_ Danielle asked the question that had been on her mind since the moment she'd woken. She never thought somewhere indoors could be so _bright._

Nora wasn't sure how this could be explained to her. According to the Nurse's memories, the year was _1961._ That was centuries (another word from Nurse Greyson's vocabulary) from when either of them had been born.

 _"I think… I think that_ I _somehow brought us here,"_ Nora tried to explain. _"We're in a place called 'America', across the great ocean from France. And we're—we're not in the same..."_ She searched for the most accurate word. _"Time? Time. We are in a different time."_

Even in her sleepy state, Danielle's eyes visibly widened. _The future._ This must be it.

 _"Your gift,"_ she whispered, clutching Nora's hand. _"Like how I can sometimes see things. You can… travel."_

 _But I don't want this,_ Nora thought. _I want to go home!_

Danielle knew that they needed to leave. Two children alone anywhere was a suspicious situation. Adults would come for them. Adults… with their grabby, manipulative fingers. -Once they got a hold of you, there was no escaping them.

 _"Sister."_ Nora prodded Danielle as her eyes began to droop. _"What do we do now?"_

 _"We must leave,"_ Danielle said. _"Before anyone comes back."_ She gestured to the tube in her forearm. _"Quickly! Get this out!"_

Nora got some bandages before following through with it. She knew that blood could arise once an IV had been removed.

As Nora helped Danielle out of the hospital bed, she whispered _"There are… other regions to your power… click your fingers, Nora; like the showman does."_

Nora followed her instructions, snapping her fingers. In doing that, an erie silence settled into the girls' ears.

No one opposing them, they walked out of the hospital. Nora kept her arms wrapped around Danielle for the entire journey.

They passed by people, all of them stopped. It was like they were frozen in place, just without all the ice.

 _What has happened to me?_ Nora wondered.

They had just come out the front doors, and now there were a million rain drops floating in front of them. Floating, but not hitting the ground.

* * *

 _November, 1962. Brooklyn, New York._

"We are leaving today."

"Why?" Nora questioned her sister. She didn't want to leave. It was almost her birthday, and she was certain that Ms. Parkinson would have her glasses by then.

It was recess time. They were sitting on the playground's set of double swings. Danielle's feet just skimmed the ground as they moved back and forth in sync.

"I saw bad people last night," Danielle explained. "A woman in white… a demon."

Nora frowned; she had noticed the dark bags under Danielle's eyes this morning. Those were the usual, tell-tale signs.

"When will they be here?" Nora asked.

Danielle slowly pressed her feet into the sand, effectively stopping her swing. "I do not know. Soon, I think."

"Oh. Okay." Nora was saddened by this, and as they boarded the bus to Oregon, she knew that a part of her would always reside in Brooklyn.

A few days later Nora traveled back to Poland during the time it was occupied by the Nazis.

There she met a boy named Erik. They talked for many hours before Nora was pulled forward to her present.

This trip had been different than the rest; she felt it, spinning between spaces and times. On top of that, her first tooth had come loose. Unfortunately, she had forgotten it back in Warsaw.

Nora had felt a strange connection to the boy, Erik. Danielle spent many hours with her, sorting out his many disturbing memories. Rarely pondered upon in her future years, for Nora, he would soon become a distant thought.

As Nora told Danielle of her adventure, Danielle knew that this had been the deciding point. One year after they had come from France, and now _this_ time was their present.

* * *

 _November, 1963. Huston, Texas._

"Bonne fête, ma soeur." Danielle easily slipped into their language. She remembered clearly the first two weeks when Nora had tried to explain English to her. Or rather: explain how _she_ had become fluent so quickly. That had been a confusing time for the both of them.

 _"Wow,"_ Nora shifted back into English so the bystanders wouldn't stare. "It's incredible, Dani!"

She couldn't begin to imagine how many books could be inside the building. Built in the 'roaring 20's', Nora had wanted to go to it ever since they'd set foot in Texas, but, to her frustration, Danielle had put it off for three months.

Finally, she would able to go _inside._ Maybe even get to touch one of the countless books it held. So far, all Nora had seen were the travel brochures.

"Want to go inside? Or are you just going to keep that mouth open?"

Nora stared, first impressed that Danielle had managed that entire sentence. She still had to get a grasp of a few English metaphors.

"Yes, yes! Let's go!" _Will we even be able to touch the books?_ Nora thought. _Even though Dani's nine years old now; she's still a kid in their eyes…_

"I can know what you are saying in here." Dani tapped one finger to Nora's temple. "Do not worry. You will get to read."

Once inside, Danielle distracted the librarian in the children's section while Nora snuck off to the non-fiction.

She loved reading so very, very much. But some stories were just so… unbelievable. Nora preferred to read about facts.

Finding a book on particle physics (thankfully, on the bottom shelf), she settled into a cushion-y armchair.

She didn't notice the man sitting across from her. Engrossed in her book, Nora would have found the him unrecognizable in a crowd. With his dark hair and brown eyes; large coat and worn hat; there wasn't a distinguishable feature on him. No one knew this man's name, nor the numbers tattooed on his forearm.

But soon, he suspected, many more would. President Kennedy's convention was just over a month away, and he'd heard talk of an attempt on his life. -Of course, there was always talk. However, this time the man had heard something else as well: according to someone, somewhere, Kennedy was a holder of the mutant gene.

His train of thought was severed as he noticed the girl sitting across from him.

For most, the feature to notice about her was the magazine article titled: 'Upcoming Investigations in Particle Physics.' That, or perhaps the lack of a parent. Though for him, it was the girl he recognized.

 _That's impossible,_ he assured himself. _It's not her._ _That was over_ _twenty years ago..._ And the child looked under ten years old.

 _She looks just like her._

Nora didn't look up as the man jumped from his chair. She didn't stare after him as he exited the library in a rush, catching the first bus out of Texas. And she didn't come across the man again for many, many years.

Danielle watched him intently until he was no longer in sight. He was of some importance; that was all she had been able to decipher from her vision.

However, the true nature of what she'd seen did not come to fruition. President Kennedy was assassinated just over one month later, on November twenty-second. It was done by one Lee Harvey Oswald.

* * *

 _May, 1964._

Erik left Texas in a hurry, so shocked by the sight of the girl that he abandoned Dallas.

The president was shot and killed and he'd done nothing to prevent it.

Reeling from yet another failure, he felt the need to seek out what little family he had left.

Charles was obviously out of the question, and Raven was off on her own, crusading through who-knows-where.

There was one more person Erik's mind went to. They hadn't spoken in almost eight years.

Now he knew: they would never speak again.

"What happened?"

"Are you a friend of the deceased?" The officer looked up from his desk, an unamused expression on his face.

"I'm her… husband," Erik said. That wasn't true; he and Magda had never gotten married. When she'd left he'd been able to track her to the border, and then she had disappeared across the Atlantic.

Now, years later, it had taken five months to find her. When Erik had finally caught up, he had been too late.

The officer raised an eyebrow, now clearly intrigued. "There was another man with her in the car." Usually it was the other way around, with the husband running off with another woman.

Erik frowned, leaning over the front desk. "We haven't spoken in a long time. But when I heard what had happened…"

The officer nodded, "come to pay your respects? That happens sometimes. ..I assume you'll want to hear about the children? -They're fine, by the way; hardly a scratch on them, actually."

"The- the children?" Erik stuttered. He felt dizzy all of a sudden.

"Oh." The officer didn't try to hide his smirk. "I see…"

Erik gulped, white-knuckled fingers clutching the desktop. "Can I see them?"

* * *

 _February, 1967._

This was the place: Nora was sure of it. The same posters she'd found plastered across every storefront, billboard, and telephone booth had detailed this exact location.

Even now, the same leaflets she'd spotted the previous week were plastered across the plaza.

"Hey, you. This is the place, right?"

Nora smiled as Danielle sidled up beside her. "Yes, it's the same address: there aren't too many people, though," she added.

"The posters _did_ say it started at three," Danielle said cheerfully. "Give it some time, sister; it's only twelve in the afternoon."

Noticing how her glasses had become skewed, Danielle began to fuss over Nora, trying to straighten her disorderly appearance.

"Hey, hey! I can get it, all right!" Nora grumpily batted away the intruding hands. "I'm twelve, not a baby!"

"Riiiight," Danielle laughed, mussing her hair before Nora could snap at her again. "Because you're _so_ mature."

A hefty crowd had gathered. All sorts of people: men in crisp business suits; mothers with their children in hand; even the occasional teenager probably skipping school.

Pietro wondered how many of them were actually mutants—and how many were here just out of pure curiosity.

The platform had been set up, the microphone triple-checked. He had ran through the audience multiple times, taking count of anyone who was carrying a weapon of some sort.

Letting his blue eyes survey the crowd one last time, Pietro zipped around to the back side of the platform.

He made eye contact with his sister, Wanda, and she sent the signal to their father.

Clothed in a black dress and a leather coat too heavy for this weather, she gave off an air of intimidation. She looked far too mature for a twelve year old, a fact that caused some distance between the twins.

Pietro had thought it odd when she had died her hair black. He had liked the original, brown colour.

Wanda caught him staring at her, probably latching onto his nervous thoughts before giving him a quick smile.

"It'll be all right," she murmured, clasping his hands for the briefest of moments.

"I know," he said, not entirely believing himself.

At that moment, a hush whispered through the crowd; Pietro knew his father had arrived.

After mother had died, he had wanted to attack this impostor—who was he to call himself their father? Where had _he_ been when the car had swerved into their path?

At the time, Wanda's power had just recently begun to surface, and she'd tried to pry the truth out of him—she had only succeeded in hurting the man.

Then, he'd shown them his gift. Wanda had seen the truth—and whatever she saw, Pietro followed.

Some protesters he'd made a note of earlier lifted their signs ever higher. They were always here. Sometimes they outnumbered the crowds; not today.

As Magneto descended from whatever perch he'd been watching from—using his powers to levitate to the ground—Pietro settled down on the concrete, preparing to wait out the long speech.

Wanda gave him a look, and stayed standing.

He propped his chin up on one palm, watching as their father gave his customary spiel. During their travels across America they had heard it many times over. Only Wanda still bothered with hiding her boredom.

From the crowd, Nora watched, enraptured. Everything about this man just _screamed_ intimidation and power. He was the kind of person you didn't want to mess with—she could see that now.

Though she wasn't exactly sure what his powers were—he'd floated down to the platform; that was cool enough—through his speech of mutant 'progress and brotherhood' Nora became more and more interested in him.

The black-haired girl moved things—a soccer ball; the microphone—without touching them. When she did, Nora was enraptured by the startling red glow around her hands.

The boy—who, oddly enough, had _silver_ hair—moved faster than she could blink, appearing through out the crowd.

As he appeared just a few feet away from them, Danielle flinched in response. She didn't trust these people—especially a man who used children like _stage props._ She was here because of Nora's undying curiosity, and nothing else.

But what Danielle hadn't told Nora was that the previous night she'd had a vision.

In it, the girl on the stage had spotted them, drawing unnecessary attention to the two sisters. Danielle knew that she would mean nothing but trouble for them

 _"What are you doing here alone?"_

 _"Are you lost?"_

 _"Where are your parents?"_

Those were just a few of the questions the adults would ask if they noticed that the girls were alone.

Questions: which would be accompanied by unprepared—and no doubt suspicious—answers on Danielle's part. They didn't need anymore attention—she was doing a fine job of raising her sister.

It was time to go; Danielle confirmed it by glancing at her watch. The girl on the stage had powers far beyond what she was showing, at least, according to what Danielle had seen the previous night.

She had arranged for them to take an earlier train in order to skip out on the girl's next act. This was something she hadn't told Nora yet.

Nora's enraptured gaze was broken as she felt a strong tugging on her sleeve. She looked at Danielle. _"What?"_

"We gotta go now," Danielle explained, eyebrows furrowing, "or we'll miss the train."

"But..." Nora looked back at the presentation, "it's not done yet..."

Danielle's expression softened. "I know… And I'm sorry. But we have to go, _now."_

Discouraged by her demanding tone, Nora slowly nodded her head; she wouldn't meet Danielle's eyes. "Oh-kaay…"

Nora was about to pause time so they could leave when the silver-haired boy chose that moment to completely lose focus.

He _had_ been running through the crowds—unseen by all—taking small amounts of money from the adults in the process. But the moment he saw _her_ everything went out the window.

She was the most beautiful person he'd seen with his own two eyes, a fact that didn't stop him from crashing into the bespectacled, brown-haired girl.

He pummeled her into the pavement with a loud _whoomph._

She stared up at him with such big, brown eyes, and his cheeks began to burn a bright pink. Pietro got up, pulling the girl with him by her hand.

"I am _so_ sorry," he stammered. "I- I didn't mean to crash into you like that! Are you all right?" He stared at her closer, waiting for the would-be flustered response.

But all she did was step away from him, slowly withdrawing her hand from his. Nora tried to take deep breaths in and out as the pain began to build, but she soon began to dissolve into hyperventilation.

Confused, Pietro stepped towards her—and was quickly pushed out of the way.

"Idiot!" came the stern voice. He didn't get a chance to look at the taller girl's face before she whisked the younger away.

The crowd parted for them as the beautiful girl was taken away from him. Pietro's shoulders sagged as he wondered if he would ever see her again.

He would—but not for many years.

* * *

 _December 1971. Salem Massachusetts._

Years had passed since then. Nora rarely thought of her chance encounter with Pietro Maximoff; these days, her mind was usually buried in books.

As soon as Dani came home that day, Nora knew something was wrong.

The door flew open, only to be closed carefully without making a sound. Nora closed her eyes as she heard the closet open and then the unzipping of a bag.

She entered Dani's room to see her throwing various items of clothing into her suitcase.

Danielle barely looked up as Nora cleared her throat.

A flash of anxious green eyes. Then the words, "You too. Pack now."

"What happened?" Nora asked.

Danielle shook her head. "Pack first. Talk later."

Nora groaned, "I'm sixteen now, Dani—not a kid anymore! You can tell me these things… please?"

Dani stopped, hovering over a pair of paint-stained jeans. "That boy you befriended."

 _"_ _Tom,"_ Nora reminded her, arms crossed. Then she frowned, "what about him?"

"Yes, _Tom."_ Danielle shook her head, throwing the painting jeans into the discard pile. "If we stay here any longer, something terrible is going to happen to him."

"What do you mean?" Nora implored Danielle to tell her. "What'sgoing to happen, Dani? Is he going to get hurt?"

Danielle shook her head solemnly, saying, "worse than that."

Nora froze. Eventually, she got it out: _"...dead?"_

Danielle stopped packing and faced her. "I tell you this _every time,_ Nora. _Don't ask about what I see._ Trust me, and everything will be all right." She saw how scared Nora looked and went over to her. Taking her hand, Danielle said, "please, just trust me: when have I ever wronged you?"

Nora sighed, defeated. She left the room to go pack.

As soon as she was gone, Danielle let out a breath of relief. What would really happen to Tom if they didn't leave was far worse than dying.

A couple of days later, on the road to Texas, Nora travelled. Danielle waited in the same spot for two days—only leaving once to retrieve water.

Nora had gone to the era of the United States' Revolutionary War; Danielle already knew that. When she returned, she would tell tales of that monumental time.

Knowing that a mischievous, blond-haired boy was safe, Dani looked forward to hearing the stories.

* * *

 _August, 1979._

"How'd the interview go?" Danielle asked from the sofa.

Closing the door behind her, Nora spun around in delight. "It went great!" she exclaimed, "I think the manager liked me; he was nice."

Danielle's eyebrows went up, "exactly _how_ nice?"

"Ugh, not like that, silly!" Nora tossed her head as she walked by. "Yeah, they're like, 'totes desperate for a new prep cook right now."

Dani groaned, "what have I told you about using that word?"

Nora's head poked out from the kitchenette. "What word?" she asked innocently.

"You _know_ what word." Danielle rolled onto her side so she was facing Nora. "'Totes' –and please don't tell me you said it in the interview!" She was currently lying on their apartment's tiny sofa, her long legs extending past one end.

"Oh _please,_ Dani." Nora rolled her eyes, head disappearing back into the other room. "I'm smart, remember? I didn't botch this; I promise."

Danielle nodded, wincing as her head began to reel with pain. "Let's just hope you get this job..."

Nora snorted from the kitchen, "I know right! I'm pretty sure the only reason we haven't been kicked out yet is because you spilled those lottery numbers to the landlady!" That had been weeks ago.

When there was no answer, Nora stepped back into the living room.

Dani's eyes were clenched shut, her knees pulled up to her chest.

"Dani?" Nora said, hesitantly creeping over to her sister.

Danielle's eyes opened suddenly and she shook her head. Nora sat down next to the sofa. She extended her hand; Dani took it.

"It's the headaches again, isn't it?" Nora asked quietly.

Danielle nodded, wrinkles appearing across her forehead.

"I'll go grab you some tylenol," Nora started and tried to get up. Dani tugged her back down.

"Don't bother…" she got out, "They barely do anything… just be a waste…"

"Okay..."

 _Dani knows,_ Nora told herself. _She knows what's best for herself._

Right now, she was having trouble believing that.

Dani's migraine persisted through out the week, growing so terrible that she wouldn't even leave her bed.

Nora put down the phone, a small smile growing. _Finally._

The head chef had called—not whom she'd spoken to before. She wanted her to come in for training. It was full-time (probably less) employment in a questionable diner, but it was still a job.

The only thing that worried her now was Dani. Nora was to start tomorrow, and she knew that there was _no way_ Dani was going to be better by then.

Nora was really, _really_ worried about her. After nearly two days, she was considering going against Dani's wishes and taking her to see a doctor.

"You've got to go," Danielle told her. "We need the money."

Nora missed the days when she could've just taken some cash from the nearest convenience store. They were supposed to be better than that now. "No," she persisted, "I can't leave you like this!"

"You're not 'leaving me'." Danielle winced as she moved to sit up. Nora tried to help by supporting her, but Dani shook her head. "You're just going to work."

"But what if you need something?" Nora said. "I- I won't be here to help."

Danielle put a hand on her shoulder, struggling to keep her eyes open due to fatigue. "It's only a couple of hours—training shifts always go that way. Just leave me a glass of water and… _go."_

Nora shrunk back. Everything inside her was screaming to stay, stay, _stay._

Danielle saw this hesitation and shook her head. "Stubborn girl..."

"I'm not a 'girl' anymore," Nora pouted.

Dani smiled. "Of course not." That didn't matter to her.

The next morning she left a pitcher of water on the bedside table. Nora stopped to brush away some of Dani's short, brown hair before heading out to work.

 _Later that day._

 _"Danielle, I'm home!"_ Nora called out as she burst through the door.

She waited expectantly for an answer, and only grew _more_ nervous when there wasn't one.

"Dani?" She checked in the kitchen; empty. The same went for the living room.

Picking up her pace, Nora sped into her and Danielle's shared bedroom.

 _Please just let her be sleeping. Please, please,_ please.

A tiny gasp escaped Nora's lips as she pushed the door open. Instinctively, she gripped the handle even harder.

Fear, then confusion swarmed her mind: the bed was empty.

She knew that calling out Dani's name was useless, but Nora still couldn't help it.

 _"Danielle…?"_ She consciously stepped into the room, placing one palm against the door.

An icy voice said, "she's not here; not anymore."

Nora whirled around to face the speaker.

The woman sat in the corner—in Nora's chair—one leg daintily crossed over the other.

Her hair was blond and pin-straight—like so many of the girls who had tormented Nora in the past. From her long coat to skin-tight pants she was dressed entirely in white.

Nora stepped forward, trying to seem as if this happened every Tuesday afternoon. "Where..." she growled, "…is my sister."

The woman blinked, seemingly unaffected by Nora's bad-cop act. She stood up, placing one manicured hand on her slim waist. Nora was disgruntled at the fact that she was taller than her—although, most people were.

"I already said," she cooed, "she's. Not. Here."

Nora's brow furrowed. "Who- who are you? What's going on?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Who am I? To make the introductions swift: my name is Emma Frost."

Nora assumed that she already knew hers.

Emma smirked. "Clever girl. You're right, Nora: I know your name—have for quite a while, actually." She frowned. "Of course, figuring it out took a _bit_ longer thanI'd hoped. Dani is _ever_ so imaginative in creating your identities."

Nora started, _How… How could she know that?_ The identities, and- and Danielle's nickname—Nora was the _only_ person who called her that.

Emma interrupted her thoughts, "I know because I've been tracking you two for a _very_ long time."

Nora stepped away from her. "How do you keep doing that?" _It's as if she's reading my-_

"-Thoughts?" Emma interjected. Nora's eyes widened and the blond grinned evilly. "I suppose you could say it's one of my many… _gifts."_ On 'gifts' there was a rapid change over her body. The crystals appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly Nora was looking at a woman seemingly made of diamonds.

"You..."

"Yes, Nora: I'm like you and your sister."

Nora tried not to think about it, but she knew she had to go back. Just a few hours, and then everything would be all right.

Emma cocked her head, as if listening to something. "Oh, Nora…" She tutted, waving a crystalline finger. "Don't do that, darling." Her face suddenly dropped into a frightening sneer. "Try anything— _anything_ at all—and your sister is _dead."_

* * *

 _ **Note: this is part one of three. The other two parts only stand to be edited. I hope to upload them within the next two to three weeks.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! Here is part two of three, and thank you to those who followed, favourited, and reviewed!**

13teen: **Thank you, I hope you enjoy this next installment :)**

anonymouscsifan: **It's good to be back! I am excited for you to see the roles that Danielle and Emma (who I agree, is a terrible person,** **but, I think: an interesting character** **) will play. In the meantime, read on!**

* * *

The bar was dingy. No, 'dingy' was too kind a word. The place stinked—it _reeked._ The people who frequented it were sketchy as all hell—as were those who worked in it.

With each passing semi-truck, the lights flickered ominously. The floor held many a gauge within its wooden planes. Chairs squeaked, the tables rocked, and there was only one, worse-than-worse bathroom.

Bored beyond belief, Nora idly picked at the burger and fries she'd ordered over half an hour ago. The lettuce had wilted and the ketchup's surface was beginning to coagulate.

The older woman doubling as the barista _and_ server passed her by once more. Nora didn't need to look up to know how the woman's eyes judged her.

Feet stopped in front of her booth, and the scratchy voice said, "all done with that, dear?"

Nora's head jerked up, the movement tossing her hair aside. She's talking about the food, she realized.

She shook her head, "uh, not quite yet, thanks." No: she wasn't done here.

The woman shrugged, topping off her water before heading back to the bar.

A bell jingled, signaling the entry of another customer.

At this, Nora looked up. She hid her smile, one that would have been of relief.

 _Finally._ He'd taken his damn time.

The man was of average height and had a full head of dusty blond hair. A crooked nose being his defining feature, Nora knew he was the right one.

She didn't know his name. Not yet.

Nora waited—ten more minutes—until he got up to go to the bathroom. She settled her hand next to the full water glass as he walked by her in three, two, one-

"Oh!"

"Ah, shit!"

He jumped back as the glass shattered in front of him, drawing everyone's attention with its sharp _crash._

Nora jumped up from her booth, apologizing profusely.

"I'm sorry- I'm _so_ sorry!" she exclaimed. Bending over to clean up the mess, she gave him an ample view of her cleavage.

"I guess I just didn't notice how close it was to the edge!" She let an innocent giggle escape her lips before saying, "are you alright? Did any of it hit you?" Nora looked up at him to see the man's gaze roam unflinchingly across her body.

Expecting that, she played it off, discretely moving closer and closer to him.

"Oh, ah, no..." he mumbled. "I'm fine."

"Well that's good!" Nora laughed, playfully batting him on the wrist.

His demeanor brightened at the contact, while Nora screamed inside her head.

The rush of memories and information was completely overwhelming. But she had been trained for this, so she kept a level head.

By now, the server had come over, rolling her eyes at the two of them as she cleaned up the broken glass.

Having got all she'd come for, Nora apologized again, then said goodbye to the man.

She paid her bill, then left him standing there, in the stingy bar. Swinging her hips in the way she'd been instructed, Nora walked to her car, knowing that he would be stating after her, frowning his puppy dog frown.

* * *

She drove through the night. Nora was dead tired, but with each passing car her drooping eyelids welcomed the bright headlights.

Her car was going at eighty-five miles an hour—with her bare foot pushing it fifteen past the speed limit. (Those dastardly stilettos she was forced to wear had been thrown to the back seat the moment she'd gotten in.)

As another set of headlights passed her left side, Nora jerked up from her stupor.

Her watch beeped, signaling the three hour countdown. Foot letting go of the gas, Nora initiated the BMW's cruise control.

One hand on the wheel, the other wrestling its way through her curls, Nora let out an exasperated sigh.

 _Now_ she had to sort through the information. If it wasn't filed away in the proper manner Mistress would be cross.

Nora kept herself from scoffing at that notion. 'Cross' was the least of anything she'd be. Whatever adjectives one used to describe Mistress, one would have to use it carefully. There was no hiding anything from her.

 _Organization…_ Her mind drifted off towards the definition of the word.

Orson Creed was a thirty-nine year old Idaho-born newspaper columnist.

There wasn't much too interesting about him. He wrote a shitty sports column for an even shittier publication (his words, not hers), was a regular at the Arbor Field Bar, and had always felt inferior to his brother in his parents eyes.

Nora stowed all of that away. It was the brother she was truly interested in.

Simon Creed was a well-established agricultural tycoon residing in the southern prairies of Canada. He specialized mainly in timber, but often dealt in behind-the-back exchanges in less-than-appealing associates.

Mistress was interested in those dealings. And through Simon's drunken conversations with his even drunker brother, Orson, Nora knew many of his company's meeting locations.

Everything of importance was shifted to the more _present_ areas of Nora's mind—ripe and ready for Mistress to take what she needed.

'Home' base was located in Las Vegas, Nevada—specifically, The Cromwell (an _extravagent hôtel_ on South Boulevard).

Despite the late hour—or early depending on oneself—Nora had to slow down in case one of the many inebriated patrons traversed into her path.

She was met by a valet and a doorman, even though there was still one hour until her deadline.

The young valet barely managed to catch the keys tossed to hm. Noting the characteristically blank-eyed gaze he gave her, Nora moved past him to the foyer.

The Cromwell featured a heavy influx of visitors through out its season. This was impressive considering it had only been open for a year.

However, what its many international envoys didn't know was the true power supplying The Cromwell's ongoing success.

To keep appearances up, Nora had put her heels back on. Accompanied by the doorman (who was a security measure, as she had no bags for him to carry), she made her way around the front desk to the private elevator.

A somehow-menacing _ding_ signaled its arrival to her floor. Nora sauntered out, giving the doorman a lofty wave as she went.

"Thank you, David!"

She was almost entirely unsure whether or not that was his name.

Upon reaching her suite, Nora heard the familiar _bamf_ of a certain red-skinned teleporter appearing behind her.

Nora sighed. She'd been hoping to avoid this particular confrontation.

Slowly turning around, she put on the sweetest smile her tired visage could muster.

"Hey, Z."

Azazel hated when she called him that—and that's _exactly_ why Nora continued to do it.

Red-faced (literally), he stepped towards her. His calmness—though carefully executed—was a perpetual facade. In truth, Nora was surprised he hadn't thrown her across the hall yet.

"Miss Nora..."

 _Of course._

"You are meant to check in with me first." Making every W sound like a V (and vice versa), the Russian's accent consumed his speech.

Nora cocked her head, holding in a laugh. 'Checking in' was a measure he had _tried_ to put in place in order to lessen Nora's standing within the Hellfire Club. They both knew it was a hopeless attempt on his part.

 _She_ was Mistress' golden child now: no one else.

"Oh, Z..." She raised one hand to his cheek. The man turned away, eye contact flicking to the ground.

She let her bottom lip pout. "You know there's only _one_ person I answer to."

He knew. She knew he knew.

Fangs jutted out over his bottom lip and he snarled.

Fingers poised to snap, she raised an eyebrow.

Nora could destroy this _man_ before he even knew what had happened.

Fight or flight—Nora was too tired to fight, but he could only assume that.

With one more growl—intimidating to others, but not her—he disappeared.

Waving a hand in front of her face, Nora coughed, ridding the excess smoke from her presence.

Inside her suite, she immediately stripped down to her underwear.

 _Lacy contraptions be damned…_ She was tempted to be rid of those as well, but opted for covering herself with a bathrobe.

All there was left to do was wait.

There was a painting that hung over her bed frame. Often, when she had a few moments' rest, Nora would find herself dissecting it.

It was an abstract piece, composed of dark blues and greens slashed over a grey backwash.

From her forward-facing angle, it resembled a forest of pine trees. However, if the painting was turned on its side, a face could be made out of the haphazard marks of blue and green.

Nora wondered how the artist had gone about achieving such an effect—she knew there was no way it had occurred by accident.

The clock struck three, her watch beeping in time with it. At that, she scrambled to make herself presentable again, leisure time forgotten.

Within two minutes she was standing next to her chair, awaiting Mistress' arrival.

Right on time, at three-thirty AM, a knock sounded at the door.

The knock was simply a warning—a warning for Nora to be ready.

The lock turned, the door opening without a sound.

Clad in white—composing a leather jacket, silk skirt, and short boots respectively—Emma Frost strode into the room. Although she was nearing her fifty-fifth year—a crone in the world of organized crime—the White Queen was still a sight to behold. Her eyes held but the tiniest of crinkles, her hands, smooth as a thirty year old's, and her hair, blond and radiant, flowed down over her breasts in smooth waves.

Nora wondered if it was the woman's telepathic vibes or simply her stunning appearance that made Nora feel so insecure every time they met.

Her entrance couldn't have been more dramatized if it had taken place on stage with a fog machine (and a pan flute).

Nora kept her hands clasped and her breaths even as Frost glided towards her.

The blond's crystal blue eyes surveyed the hotel suite with scathing intent.

Once she deemed the place presentable, Frost sat down in the armchair across from Nora's.

Easing back into it, she smoothly hooked one leg over the other.

"Sit," she commanded.

Nora let out a breath in a slow fashion, sitting down across from her.

One of Frost's manicured hands hung off the chair's arm. Fingers splayed out, she rotated her wrist in a questioning gesture.

"I trust you were successful in your mission?"

Nodding hurriedly, Nora complied, "yes, Mistress."

Frost nodded. The rest of her body stayed uncomfortably still.

"Were there any… _complications?"_

"No, Mistress." Any other answer to that would induce dire consequences.

There was a shimmer in the air as Frost's skin made its customary shift to diamond.

"Then we'll begin."

The intrusion was immediate.

It started of as a simple prodding to her forehead. Then Frost's telepathic coils made their way to Nora's ears.

They crept inside her head, oozing into her brain like muck down a storm drain.

Nora clamped her mouth shut the moment it started. Her jaw quivered in pain, but she did not scream.

She distracted herself from the pain by clenching her fists or tapping her toes—anything to keep her mind steady and body calmed.

If she screamed—and rue the day that occurred—Mistress would be very angry.

Frost smirked as Nora's head fell forward, slumping to her chest in an unconscious fit.

The girl's body shook as she resisted her resisting to the intrusion.

This was the time Nora feared the most. This was why she avoided ever thinking ill of Mistress: because as Frost extracted the information she needed, she was also given a full, unaltered view of all Nora's thoughts.

It ended suddenly, with Nora lurching forward, gasping for air.

Her own hands clutched at her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears.

Frost stood up, rolling her eyes.

"Come now, pet, look me in the eyes."

She ignored the surge of negativity that had just come off of her young charge. After all, today was a special day.

"Your next assignment will be sent to you within the week," Frost said, making her way towards the door. "Until then, enjoy your time alone."

Nora took a haggard breath, forcing herself to sit up straight.

"Oh." Frost stopped just before the door. "I almost forgot." Her laugh had a sick kind of humor to it. "I'll tell your sister you said 'hello.'"

Frost's last words echoed in Nora's head long after she had gone.

 _"_ _Happy Birthday, pet."_

* * *

 _2 Years Later._

 _What year is it?_

Shoes clacked down the asphalt as Nora strode across the avenue. Out of sight's range, the cheers of one thousand people could be heard as the clock counted down.

 _"Eight…_ _seven… six..."_

 _Right._ It was almost 1981.

But what did that matter? Time was just a ball of thread, unwinding until there was nothing left.

The building in front of her was dimly lit. -Not in the sketchy way; it had more class than most she was sent to.

The dull hum of conversation beckoned to her when she opened the door. It was tempting to sit down and share a drink with all the other outsiders, but she didn't have the time for that.

Even though the count-down had reached zero, with everyone calling out a raucous 'Happy New Year!', eyes roamed as she walked past the men and women seated around her.

It was no wonder they did. Nora had the outfit down to the last thread.

Short, sparkly dress; dainty heels unfit for the impending rain; a large coat lined with some kind of fur—too large to have originally belonged to her; and overdone makeup, smudged from her faked tears.

To all who didn't know her—which was everyone here—she looked the perfect part of a date which had been dumped.

Sitting down at the bar itself, Nora smiled as their chatter dropped in volume.

Apparently, the seats at the bar were reserved for… _prime customers._

"Could I have a rum and coke, please?" she asked the bartender, a short woman with dyed hair.

Eyebrow piercing moving with the inspection, she looked Nora up and down. After a moment she seemed to give in, nodding as a small sigh was let loose.

Nora let her eyes roam the bar as her drink was being made.

The glass was slammed onto the counter. Nora jumped. The woman smirked. She'd been expecting the reaction.

"Up front or on tab?" The bored voice asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

She rolled her eyes at what was considered 'fancy talk', then repeated herself. "Will you be paying _up front,_ or will you be starting a _tab?"_

 _Oh…_ Nora rummaged through her pockets, tossing a few bills on the counter.

A laugh broke into their conversation. Both women turned to the source.

"Leave 'er be, Sonya. This one's on me."

Nora immediately turned on her 300-watt smile.

It was him. There was no mistaking it.

The bartender rolled her eyes, moving away from Nora and the new arrival.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the empty stool next to her.

Still smiling, Nora turned so that they were facing each other directly. "You offered to buy my drink; how could I say no?"

Now that they were sitting next to each other, their knees almost touching, Nora was able to see what the picture hadn't told her.

His eyes were blue, and his nose was not crooked, but strong. He head a steady jawline, one she was almost tempted to touch.

And his hair. It couldn't be dyed—and he couldn't be more than a few years older than her. Yet, somehow, shoulder-length that it was, his hair was silver. (Although, in what light the bar provided, some might call it grey.)

"Do I get a name after buying that drink?"

 _Cocky one he is._ "Anne." The one she'd prepared. "And yourself?"

He groaned. "If we're sticking with first names, then I'm afraid I'll have to lie to you, sweetheart."

"Oh?" Nora frowned. "Why is that?"

He leaned in close. She could smell a hint of alcohol on his breath. He'd started drinking _early._ "My name… it's pretty embarrassing. Can I get you to just call me Peter?"

That wasn't too bad of an alternative. In the past, some had gone so far to ask her to call them daddy.

She had.

"You know you're sitting in a restricted area, right?"

She feigned confusion. "What? For who? I didn't see any _signs..."_

He waved his hand. "Just the regulars; it's no biggie. As long as none of them feel like taking your seat."

Nora giggled, letting the shoulder of her coat slide down casually. "Well I hope none of them do!"

Peter took a deep breath. _"If_ they felt like it, I suppose _you'd_ just have to become one of the regulars."

She raised an eyebrow, leaning in just a bit closer. "Really? And how would I do that?"

* * *

Sex was sometimes part of her job.

Nora tried her best to avoid it, but there were times when it was inescapable.

She had lost what some would call her virginity to a rich man in Maine. It hadn't been horrible; she hadn't been raped.

It was still something Nora wished she could take back.

She wished it could have been done with someone like the man she'd just lain with.

Facing her on his side, she could hear his quiet breaths. With his cheek pressed to the pillow, there would undoubtedly be a bedhead the next morning.

Nora didn't 'rate' her sexual experiences. Usually, she tried to forget them.

But something was nagging her about this one.

The sex hadn't been bad. Oh no, it had been far from bad. Rough, fast, and not-entirely alcohol-induced. Not bad at all for a New Year's stand.

What was bothering Nora was the fact that she still only knew this man's name.

Or at least, the name he had given her.

Peter, and only Peter. Nothing else. No memories; no familial ties.

She had gotten nothing from him.

When he'd first grazed her hand, Nora had assumed it had been too light of a touch. Even though she knew that wasn't the case, she had slept with him in hopes that the extended amounts of contact would induce the transfer.

Now as she sat, wrapped in the bed sheets, she knew it wasn't going to happen.

No information. No chance of pleasing Mistress. -And every possibility that Danielle could be killed.

Nora had never failed on a mission—she didn't want to know what would happen if she did.

So she did the only thing that made sense at the time.

Six hours later, when the morning bartender would come upstairs to check on her definitely-asleep brother, her screams would resonate through out the building.

* * *

 _"_ _Eight!"_

Idiot.

 _"_ _Seven!"_

Fool.

 _"_ _Six!"_

Coward. _You stupid, foolish coward!_ Nora screamed to herself as she walked towards the dimly-lit bar.

She had killed him, but that hadn't been enough for Mistress.

Mistress had said she would harm Danielle beyond repair. She'd threatened to burn Danielle alive on a butcher's table. She had told Nora to wait and watch as Danielle was thrown to her death from an unknown cliff top. She had promised to make Nora tear her heart out, while Danielle was awake. That's when Nora had lost it.

Or rather, that was when she had regained her self-control.

Out of fear and anger, Nora had willed herself back in time. Back to right now.

"Happy New Year!" the patrons cheered, some more half-heartedly than others.

Nora moved past all of them, not giving their stares a single thought. She sat down at the same barstool, waiting.

 _But for what?_

Her head was still reeling from what she had done—and what might come to happen.

This time her clothes were much more _her_ taste, with a leather jacket instead of the fur coat, and slacks replacing that strapless mess of a garment.

As the people around her celebrated the coming year, Nora simply waited for the bartender's attention. Tonight, she noticed, it was a different woman.

After a couple minutes, she sauntered over to Nora, placing one hand on the bar's surface.

"What can I get for..."

Nora looked up as the woman's voice trailed off. "Yes?"

Nora's jaw dropped. The woman's eyes were a blazing red. Hand fisting in on itself in what must have been a back-breaking grip, she stared Nora down.

"What..." she growled, voice grating like nails on a chalkboard, "have you done to him?"

"To who?" Nora asked, only just recognizing the familiar tendrils of a telepath's presence.

Mistress hadn't mentioned this.

Nora slowly moved off the stool. "I think I'll be leaving now..." Before she could move anywhere, the bartender darted out, grabbing a hold of her wrist.

The surge was instant and terrifying and unlike any other transfer Nora had initiated.

In that moment, she became witness to everything the woman knew about herself.

 _WandaMaximoffborn1955toMagdafatherunknownat-the tim_ _e_ _TwinPietro_ _l_ _ikestobecalledPetertheyaremutantsscaredcarcrashmotherdeadfATHERarrivestakes_ _themprotectsthemtheyaresafelike a brotherhood-_

Wanda didn't know what to make of this bitch. She walks in, sits at the _bar,_ waits patiently (mind you, that's not a bad thing), then was having thoughts about her brother—her dead brother.

Except Peter wasn't dead. He was actually due to arrive for their monthly meeting any second.

And there he was; arrived just in time so see 'this bitch' collapse on the floor.

Hands on his hips, he let out an exasperated breath. "Who's she? Passed out already… It's barely even midnight—ohwaititis nevermind."

Man, did Wanda wish she hadn't covered Sonya's shift tonight.

 _"_ _Pietro,"_ she told him in German, _"outside._ Now."

"What do you want?"

Nora's head was flung back as she was hit with a bucket's-worth of water.

 _Where?_ Right, back alley: interrogation. _Why?_ Your fault. Stupid, should have just let him be dead. _How?-_

"You know I can hear you, right?" Hand on one hip, the bartender— _Wanda Maximoff_ —cocked her head, questioning the brunette's focused but haphazard state of mind.

Nora let her head fall to her chest, thoughts scrambled in the barrage of Wanda's life.

"Oh, fuck it," Wanda snarled. She put a hand on Nora't temple and closed her eyes. In that instant Nora was exposed to a feeling not unlike that of Emma's probing—only in this case it was much more messy. Hands groped at her thoughts, carelessly pushing their way through Nora's mind.

As his sister preformed her usual schtick, Peter noticed how the new girl's eyes stayed focused on him. The entire time.

Usually, he wouldn't mind a woman staring at him like that. But right now, he felt like a piece of meat—one that had already been sliced up and was ready to be served.

Gasping not entirely in shock, Wanda jumped back. From _Nora,_ she resolved to think of her by her actual name now.

Eyes narrowed, she appraised her with caution. Surprisingly, she seemed no more fatigued than before Wanda had searched her. _Impressive._

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, trying to avoid the woman's stare.

Wanda gestured to Nora's pointed gaze. Even that didn't disuade her attention towards Peter. "She's a mutant."

Peter seemed slightly more interested—if only for the fact that she was attractive. "Is that it?"

A quiet laugh came from their prisoner—although they were beginning to wonder who was _really_ in trouble here. "Oh… not even _close."_

After hearing her story, the twins first and only course of action was to (begrudgingly) bring her to Magneto.

 _Just like old times…?_ Wanda thought to Peter. His only response was a deepened frown and a hard shake of the head. 'Old times' had been quietly handing out flyers and informing (sometimes, recruiting) people to their cause. 'Old times' was just that: old, and in the past.

They rarely spoke with their Father anymore. Peter had especially grown out of his unconditional reverence towards the man.

Now, watching him—still with that _stupid_ helmet—go toe-to-toe with a five foot (three inch?) Frenchwoman, Peter's frown lessened slightly.

* * *

"What could you give me in return?"

He was interested, and interest was half of the bargain. Even so, Nora didn't smile.

"For one," she began, "Emma Frost would no longer oppose you."

He leaned back, his apparent relaxation made Nora worried. "I have the forces to do that myself, why would I need you?"

Nora tilted her head in thought. "I suppose that's true. I am not… _entirely_ necessary to you in that way."

Magneto's eyes dulled with boredom.

Her words hit him. "But… I can bring Magda back."

Peter and Wanda didn't know what they were saying to each other. But when the window was suddenly covered by a metal sheet, the two of them jumped back in shock.

The legs of the table began to shake. Nora kept her gaze level with Magneto's. One of his hands drummed on the shifting table top.

"Go on."

* * *

Even once their deal was struck, Nora was not given the helmet outright.

Magneto—or, Erik Lensherr, as she knew him—took his time in planning.

Nora was almost positive that Wanda knew about her traveling to see her father as a child. If she really did, Wanda didn't bring it up.

Waiting for Magneto's 'go-ahead' signal, Nora stayed in one of Wanda's safe houses.

Her silver-haired brother, Peter, would bring her a supply of food once a week.

"Who's Dani?"

Nora flinched, quickly looking to the crate of dried fruits. It had been so long since she'd heard that name spoken aloud.

"How do you-" she whispered.

"You talk in your sleep. -And _no,_ I don't creep on you while you're sleeping—you were napping when I got here… and, well, you said her name a few times. I was just wondering if she was your girlfriend or something—shit! I mean, I- you-" He sighed, "You've said it before and so..."

Nora blinked, shaking her head as he tried to steer the conversation towards something else. _He… talks… fast…_

"Is she a friend of yours or something?" He continued to pester her as they took the food into the kitchen. "A hot friend? Sister?"

 _"_ _Sister..."_ Nora breathed, silencing him. "She's my sister… Although, I couldn't tell you what she looks like. It's been a while since I last saw her." Most days Nora struggled to remember what shirt Danielle had been wearing that last morning. She knew her hair had been short. But how short? What shape was her nose? They had looked similar in their childhood, but Nora wasn't so sure anymore.

"Oh..." _Shit,_ Peter mouthed.

He briefly recalled Wanda's words: _"We can't trust her. What she promised to_ him: _it can't be done."_

It took a few weeks for Peter to muster the courage (and maybe, the insanity) to ask Nora about that.

"What made Magneto"-it still felt alien to call him that-"decide to help you? He rarely concedes to anything." Peter doubted the word 'defeat' existed in that man's vocabulary—that, as well as trust.

Nora sighed. She had been wondering how long it would take for him to ask.

"Did Wanda completely explain what my mutation is?"

Peter shrugged, lugging the week's supply of dairy products into the fridge. "She said something about time travel, though I never really asked." Because that was supposed to be a rare gift, he felt like he should be more curious. He'd heard rumors of _versions_ of time manipulation in the underground, but had never actually met someone with the ability.

Nora cracked a small grin. _Keep it simple, girl._ "That's the gist of it." Shoulders slouching in defeat, she knew that the truth had to come out now. If it didn't, what worse situations would it?

"I told him I could bring back your mother. -That is," she corrected, predicting his confused/shocked expression, "I would go back in time and stop the car crash from happening."

Peter sat down at her small, circular kitchen table.

Leaning against the countertop, Nora waited out the silence.

"Except that's a lie, isn't it?"

Nora nodded her head in affirmation. She suspected that Wanda had already gleaned that information from her already-unshielded mind. And with Wanda's knowing usually came Peter's.

"Will you tell him?" was her only question. _Would he tell Magneto?_

A long silence. The Peter simply said, "no."

Her worries were finally allowed to lessen—though not entirely dissipate. Nora moved to his side, putting her hand on his. "Thank you."

* * *

Love is dangerous. _Connections_ are dangerous.

Growing close to anyone but her sister was a hazard, lest the closeness tear her apart.

That's what Dani would have said.

But she wasn't here.

Peter was.

* * *

'Suiting up' was what they called preparing for a mission. Oddly enough, there were very few suits involved.

She was given a bulletproof vest, a loaded handgun (she laughed at that), and, _finally,_ the helmet.

Magneto said he'd enlisted some help towards the mission. "Called an old friend," he'd said, "and told them we are going to bring Frost down."

Now, getting ready to return to her base, Nora was joined by Peter.

She didn't quite know what to call him. Partner? Boyfriend? Lover?

He was something to her and that was… well, something.

Nora was worried about facing Mistress— _Frost._ She had spent so long dreaming of when she would be free, and now that it was time she didn't know…

"Hey." There was a hand on her arm. It was firm and reassuring.

Peter looked concerned; it was an expression she didn't see often on his face.

"It's gonna be okay. We have surprise on our side and a dozen more than she does."

Nora managed a weak smile. Anything else would have felt too fake. "Yeah, I'm just..." _Scared? Nervous? Anticipating?_ "… I don't know..." She was nervous, Nora decided, nervous—but excited—that she would be able to see her sister again. She wouldn't have to ever feel Frost's touch in her mind, she wouldn't have to do horrible things to keep her sister safe; she would be free.

Nora tried to ignore the nagging thought in the back of her head: what if Dani wasn't happy to see her?

* * *

 ***Note: as I am housesitting for a friend, I will be away from my regular computer for a week, so expect the final installment to this in about that much time—sorry for the delay! :(**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: the final chapter! I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this version of Nora and Peter's story :)**

13teen: **Thank you for your kind thoughts! :D**

anonymouscsifan: **Nora's lie to Magneto will have some consequences—paranoia being one of them, though perhaps not on Nora's part. I love your insight and curiosity with every new chapter. Thank you once more, and hopefully this will be a satisfying conclusion :)**

 **Possible trigger warning: attempted suicide.**

* * *

There were no guards outright. Peter disabled the front desk manager in less than a second. (The young man appeared miles away from Las Vegas and would wander the desert for a day before hitch-hiking a ride home.)

Wanda and two more of Magneto's associates (one they called 'Chameleon' and another telekinetic) joined him at the elevator.

"This is the one?" Wanda directed the question at Peter. When he nodded she cracked her knuckles, sending red sparks across the door.

She and the younger telekinetic pulled the elevator to their level. Magneto had conveniently arranged to stay behind with Nora.

"Which floor?" Wanda asked casually.

Peter gestured to the emergency call button. "It's a separate segment of the twenty-first."

Wanda pushed the button. Instead of starting an alarm, it asked her for a password. Into the comm, she recited the line of poetry Nora had had her memorize. All the floors above them were simultaneously being swept clean. Patrons were to be locked in their rooms and employees (both mutant and non-mutant) were being dealt with in other ways.

Peter's first opponent appeared when the elevator doors opened. In an instant, he was chasing after the puff of red smoke.

The man was jumpy, he'd give him that. But no one escaped Peter once he had his sights on them.

The teleporter was knocked unconscious and deposited in a closet. They weren't to kill anyone on this floor, Nora had explicitly instructed. Peter was almost thankful for that. He wasn't sure if he still had the stomach for killing.

Just as Nora had told them, there was only the one guard.

Wanda turned on the light in room 21-D, the signal for the others to enter.

The wait grew frustrating.

Unfortunately, their boredom did not last.

 _Hello there._ "What on earth are you doing in my hotel?"

Once they were inside the elevator, Magneto handed over the helmet.

* * *

Nora's hands shook as she placed the comically-large piece over her head.

The mirror reflected their contrasting appearances. One tall and looming, the other short and diminutive. One wearing a ridiculous cape and the other a bulletproof vest and jeans.

Nora's eyes flicked up to his in the mirror. She whispered, "you know what she can do?" -As if he would have agreed to help her otherwise, she chided herself.

He nodded curtly. It had been a while since Erik had encountered the White Queen (whether on friendly terms or not). It hadn't been long enough for him to have forgotten her.

This time it was Nora who pressed the button, clearly uttering the tenth line from Shakespeare's ninety-fourth sonnet: _"For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds."_

Erik had not expected a phrase so capricious—and from the Bard, no less. He wondered if Frost had changed at all since their last meeting.

Not unlike a microwave, the elevator _dinged_ to signal the ride's end. The doors opened, and Magneto saw that he was so very, very wrong.

The secret floor was torn apart. Lights flickered, still touched by Wanda's signature red glow. End tables were dashed to pieces as if run through by a train. Doors torn off their hinges, a broken pipe erratically spewing water, and smashed plant pots: all evidence of a battle already fought—a battle already lost.

Or, in one case, won.

 _"_ _You knew they would fail,"_ Nora managed to say. Magneto glanced at her, his eyes cold and emotionless.

"I knew—agh!" He cried out and fell to his knees.

From the shadows Nora heard a _tsk tsk_ all too familiar to her ears.

"Too slow, _Erik."_ One high heel stepped out, followed by another, and then Nora had to face her.

 _Her:_ Frost

"I am so disappointed in you, pet." Emma gestured around them. "Did you really think that _this,_ these- these _pawns_ would work?"

She lifted one of the unconscious bodies by their jacket collar. As he let out a groan, Nora pressed her lips together, wanting to scream at her to let. Him. Go.

"I must say, you have decent taste," Frost clicked her tongue. "Though I am curious as to how you managed to get that helmet. He has always been _so_ protective of it." She paused and laughed airily. "And I'll bet the fact that you've been screwing his son has _nothing_ to do with it."

Amongst all this, Nora hadn't once said a word. The one time she was privy to her own thoughts—her own _free will_ —and she was too petrified to do anything.

"This really _is_ a one-sided conversation with you wearing that… abomination. Pet, why don't you just take it off?"

Nora shook her head; a robotic movement that made Frost frown.

She clicked her tongue, "that's a shame. Really, Nora, a true shame." Peter's body was dropped back to the ground. "After all, I was going to let you and your beau walk out of here." Frost reached out and opened the room on her left. A winning look on her face, she drew something out into the flickering lights. "Perhaps someone a little more… _relative?"_

Nora didn't recognize her. The woman Frost held up was healthy-looking, with clean hair and a shining complexion. Her identical brown hair was cropped short—almost exactly like Dani's had been.

It was the exact opposite Nora had imagined. She looked good.

 _"Danielle-"_ The name escaped her lips, and Nora's voice grew groggy with tears.

"What do you say, Pet?" Frost set Dani's body down between them. Nora was so close; almost within arms' reach. "Just take off the helmet and I'll let you have her back."

Any remnant of sense had fled Nora's mind. Pause time? Nah. Rewind? Why bother! Dani was here. So close, so _very_ close. -And all she had to do was take off this uncomfortable helmet.

Noticing the presence of someone else, Frost relinquished her control over the other mutants and allowed her diamond form to take over.

It wasn't possible. Why- _how?_ There was no way he would be here.

Nora knew (she had for weeks) what she was going to do. Danielle came first: her importance rose above everyone else's.

As if sleepwalking, her hands slowly moved up to take off the helmet. Her hair fell about her shoulders as she pulled it from her head.

In an instant, her mind became a battleground.

A thunderous voice entered her head, yelling for her to put the helmet back on.

She didn't like that voice. It was loud—too loud.

What came next was worse.

An icy stabbing pushed the voice away. -Not out entirely, just to the side.

The others began to rise, just in time to see Nora crumple to the floor.

Hands pressed to her ears, Nora's jaw stretched agape in a silent scream.

"No!" Peter reached out, wanting to help her, but was thrown back. He and his sister were pulled away, tugged from the fight by the metal on their belts and jackets.

Magneto go to his feet using the elevator door as support. A voice was also in his head—one he hadn't heard in a long time.

 _Erik, you must subdue Frost. She's going to destroy-_

"I know," he grumbled.

Moving towards them despite Frost's psychic attacks, he noted how worse his other two charges had fared. _Gone, like so many others._

Frost was kneeling in front of Nora. The sister's body was discarded off to the side; she had yet to wake up.

One delicate hand was cradling Nora's head. This wry time-traveler had turned out to be more trouble than she was worth. Frost intended to end that, already thinking of the alternate agreements her sister might be able to be coerced into.

 _"Emma,"_ Magneto growled and reached forward. One of the exposed pipes wrapped around her diamond form and yanked her away from Nora. _"Stop this."_

Splayed across the wall, she gave him an acrimonious glare. "You have no business here, _Lensherr."_ His family name was spat out in a spray of malice. He knew that neither of them did. This 'good-guy' business was no where near their usual.

Still, he chided her. "We made a deal—something you used to know a thing or two about."

While they were trading remarks, Nora used the small leeway off opportunity to retrieve Magneto's helmet… and something else she had brought along.

"Stop it!" The screech drew their attention.

Helmet in place, gun in hand, Nora leveled her mind in Frost's direction. "Stop. _Now."_

Magneto backed away from his former associate. Peter and Wanda joined him cautiously, taking in the turn of events.

Emma Frost, for once, was stuck. Her situation was at a standstill. Azazel had gone. And the sister—her one source of leverage—was spent beyond repair.

She did not expect the next words Nora said.

"Wake her up." Nora gestured towards the unconscious form lying on the floor. "Wake her up, now."

And in that was Frost's salvation.

"I can't," she lied, plucking at the girl's already-deteriorating mentality. "And even if I could, you wouldn't want me to."

Nora's eyes flicked back and forth between Frost and her sister.

Lying—she had to be. She was a liar—Frost always lied. Dani was there— _here,_ she was here. She would wake up and they would get out of here and live together like they always had.

'Always' being the key word.

But 'always' had been on hold for the past two years. And now it seemed like 'always' might not even be possible.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't _deal_ with this. Not anymore.

In a decision so unexpected even Peter didn't have a fast enough reaction, Nora turned the gun and pointed it underneath her chin.

Someone screamed.

Nora felt the helmet lift from her scalp.

The loud voice returned, and she didn't see anything except for-

* * *

Danielle hadn't had a headache this bad since, well, _ever._ She knew it had something to do with her power. Nora didn't need to know that.

What she hadn't been expecting was someone to be blocking her ability. That, and for it to have such a painful effect on her.

She didn't remember exactly how she'd been taken, but Dani had a suspicion that it had to to with the teleporter. He was one freaky dude.

Her time in confinement had been hardly that.

She hadn't felt 'trapped' or held against her will. All Dani knew was that she hadn't been able to leave.

She hadn't liked that part.

"Sorry," she murmured, shaking her head. "I tend to get lost nowadays." What even _was '_ nowadays' for her?

"That's completely all right," the man assured her. "Considering what you—and your sister, I might add—have been through I think some 'gapping out', as the children say, is perfectly normal."

"Right… I guess." She laughed softly, "sorry, what do I call you? Professor…?"

"You aren't enrolled as one of my students, so please: call me Charles."

Dani and Charles' attention was drawn by the entrance of another. She wasn't sure what to make of him. He purposefully walked over and stood beside her. His foreboding presence seemed to dampen even Charles' friendly demeanor. Neither looked happy to be in the same room as the other.

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to placate her nerves. Talking to people was something she would have to readjust to.

"From what I've been told, I owe both of you my thanks." She raised her eyebrows. "You have it: undoubtedly. My sister and I- we owe you much more than that."

It was Charles' custom to accept her thanks, and insinuate nothing else. Magneto, on the other hand, had been made other promises.

"When she wakes up how long will it be before she is able to travel?" he questioned.

Dani frowned. "I'm not sure… It could be some time before she's in a healthy-enough headspace."

Charles made a questioning face. Then, using deductive reasoning, he came to the conclusion as to why Magneto had been so willing to help this girl. (One who seemingly had nothing to offer him, other than her abilities.)

"What deal did you make with her," he asked sternly.

Confused by his apparent internal conversation, Danielle looked to Magneto for an explanation. She knew that she held more trust towards him than Charles did. He had been there when she'd woken up. Him, and the others.

Magneto grumbled, "in return for my help, your sister promised to go back in time to change someone's fate." He paused before elaborating, "… to stop someone from dying, specifically. I am only asking how long it would be until she would be willing do so."

For a moment Dani's face was blank. Then it washed over into a sheet of paleness.

 _My god, Nora, what have you done?_

Charles' face fell, noticing the change in her thoughts.

She held up her hand. "There's no need to read my mind. I'd rather tell you the truth myself."

Leering forward, Magneto growled, "what do you mean 'the truth'?"

The corners of Dani's eyes developed crinkles as she grimaced. "Nora _can't_ control that part of her ability. The time-travelling just… happens. She can't go back and reverse whatever you want changed."

She was supposed to feel sorry for him. But Dani knew she would have done the same if her and Nora's roles had been switched.

Magneto clenched his fists. Charles held out a cautioning hand. Danielle began to rise from her seat.

-Peter burst into the office, practically buzzing with excitement. Breathless, he said, "she's awake!"

* * *

It felt like there were hundreds of insects whirling around her head. It stung quite a bit; maybe some of them were bees.

Nora wasn't sure where she was. The room was nice, clean, actually. In all truth, it was freaking her out a bit.

She was wearing the same clothes as before—minus the jacket. Her jeans and shirt were no less wrinkled, but they felt normal, at least.

The door to her room opened. Nora's immediate reaction was to freeze up, but once she saw the person who entered she her fear dissipated.

Nora was still on edge by how _healthy_ Danielle looked. She didn't appear to be malnourished in the slightest, and her weight seemed not to have changed.

Dani glanced back, smiling at someone Nora couldn't see, then closed the door behind her.

A silence was expected. Neither of them knew what to say.

Nora's voice cracked at first. "How- how is your headache?"

Dani barely remembered that. The headache that had lasted for a week was the last thing she'd thought to have on her mind.

She made a small grin, sitting down on the end of Nora's bed.

"It's, uh, better, I guess."

With a sob crawling up her throat, Nora cracked a smile.

They both burst into tears.

* * *

No one needed to tell him: Peter knew this was goodbye.

Nora and her sister had spent a week at the Xavier Institute. To say the least, it had been a tension-filled seven days for everyone else. Usually, the X-Men and the Brotherhood were fighting—not sharing a mansion together.

They were leaving now. Or, as Danielle put it, "getting back to our life."

The sisters had shared an awkward chuckle at that.

Spending all that time together, Peter had let himself believe that things would stay the same once Nora and Danielle had been reunited. (That _they_ would stay the same.)

He was currently holed up in one of the guest rooms waiting out their departure. Seeing Nora leave was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

That made it all the worse when she knocked on his door.

"Hey." She looked happy—leagues different from the washed-up brainiac he'd first seen at Wanda's bar.

Slowly, Nora shifted one toe over the threshold to his room. "Can I come in?" she asked hesitantly.

He nodded, trying to capture the finer details of her face.

For some, it was about memorizing the individual planes of their cheek bones, the constellations their freckles made up, or the way their eyes sparkled whenever they laughed— _really_ laughed. For Peter, it was just about remembering what she looked like; how she smiled at odd moments; the way her eyes glinted when—ah, shit.

He had gone and done it now, hadn't he?

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Nora put a hand on his shoulder. Her brow was furrowed, showing every ounce of concern she felt.

Peter averted his gaze. "What do you want me to say?"

She moved closer—close enough to kiss him. "I don't know… Goodbye? See you later? I know we haven't talked much since I woke up-"

"-Yeah, and why is that?" His voice held a frightening amount of indignation.

Though she was tempted to, Nora did not step away. "I know you can't be happy with me and Dani leaving..."

Not Danielle. Just her.

"… we just have a lot of catching up; she thought it was best that we continued our..." she tried to think of the right phrase, "lifetime road trip?"

"And what do _you_ think?" He dropped his voice into a low baritone. Peter's fingertips had somehow found their way onto her waist.

Nora exhaled, "I just want to be with my sister, Peter." _And you too._

"Then this is your shitty goodbye?" He wasn't entirely angry—or was, at least, hiding it very well.

Nora shrugged. "Like I said: see you later?"

Hiding what was to become a shattered mess of a heart, he put on his charismatic grin.

"Then this'll be one to remember," he said suggestively.

Colour bloomed across Nora's cheeks. She was especially susceptible to that grin of his.

"Oh, you." She snapped her fingers.

* * *

"You're smiling an awful lot."

Letting her eyes waver from the road, Nora glanced in Dani's direction. "Oh? Is that such a bad thing?"

Dani smiled. Her's was similar to Nora's. "Not at all."

* * *

Happiness is an emotion most sought out by humans. They seek enjoyment through out their lives, sometimes resorting to less than savory methods in achieving it.

Humans (and mutants, alike) work to achieve their personally-desired forms of happiness. And their efforts, if deemed worthy enough by whatever universal forces hold control over the world, are sometimes rewarded.

However, more often than not, a human's struggle for achievement ends in a finale that was less than desired or anticipated. Even sometimes—if they are so unlucky—the top is turned in the opposite direction, spiraling their lives into a rotten mess of tragedy and regret.

This was one of those.

* * *

Danielle was frightened of her sister.

Younger as she was, Nora was a different person. She had changed—nearly beyond recognition.

The overweight motel clerk moved dazedly as the two attractive women returned to their car. He didn't know their names; they hadn't given them to him. All the taller one had asked for was directions to the nearest town.

"Exit thirty-one, about three miles south," he'd told them, completely forgetting to offer the Sunrise's pricey deal on single-bed rooms. His manager wasn't here, fortunately. She'd be yelling at him if she was.

The shorter of the two hadn't paid him much attention; he wished she had.

She would be in his thoughts tonight.

"I don't see why we couldn't have stayed there for the night," whined Nora, hooking one ankle out the open window.

Dani glanced warily in her direction. "Are you serious? That 'continental breakfast' looked like nothing more than some muffins and coffee."

Nora shrugged. "We could've asked that clerk to get us something else."

 _You mean_ you _could've,_ Dani mused to herself.

"The next town will have something more than that glorified pit stop," Dani said aloud, assuring herself more than Nora.

"Whatever you say, sis." Nora settled back into the passenger seat, pulling her sunglasses down over her nose.

Danielle was frightened of her sister.

At first, she'd thought it a simple side effect of their separation and Nora's manipulation. Now she _knew_ it was a side effect: one that hadn't worn off, even in the years after their reunion.

Nora was different, and Dani didn't want to be the one to bring it up.

In '88, she finally addressed what was bothering her.

"How do you know about that?" Nora asked incredulously. 'Asked' was the debatable term. 'Asked' insinuated that she was wanting a civilized conversation.

"How do I know that you made a pact with the equivalent of a mutant mob boss?" Dani threw up her hands, "I talked to the man, Nora! It _happened_ to come up that you promised to bring back his dead wife!"

"So what? You're mad at me for _lying_ to get you out of whatever prison Frost had you in?!"

Dani paced to the door of their hotel room. "No! I'm just trying to explain why we need to keep _moving!"_

Nora stayed on the bed. She was comfortable where she was. _"Keep moving?_ So you think he's going to track us down 'cause I lied to the guy?"

Dani pressed a hand to her eyes, the other placed on her hip. "What else am I supposed to think?"

"Nothing of it!" Nora exclaimed. "He's not going to come after us."

"Because you had sex with his son."

Nora froze.

"You know about that too?" She asked quietly.

"I may have had my head messed with for two years, but I didn't completely lose _all_ of my brain cells," Dani snapped. "Of _course_ I know you slept with him!"

Nora's anger reared back up. "So _what_ if I did! Did ya' think I was just going to wallow in loneliness forever?" Nora breathed sharply, "to be honest: I thought you were dead. I _thought_ we were never going to see each other again."

Dani opened her mouth.

Nora turned away sharply. There was nothing left to say.

"It was supposed to be just you and me, Nora. The two of us: _just_ us."

Nora sniffed. _Well maybe two isn't enough anymore._

* * *

Danielle had seen this argument months ago. Everything came with a price—knowing the future and not being able to do anything to change it was hers.

In their youth, she had moved simply on well-guided instincts; more than often, she had been right.

She was the first one to leave. Storming to their car, Danielle drove, angry, to the nearest drugstore.

They were almost out of tampons anyways.

She hadn't predicted the next turn.

Danielle thought nothing of the man who walked through the sliding glass doors—even if his vest looked a bit overstuffed.

* * *

Peter stared in horror at the television screen. What he was seeing couldn't be true.

 _"…_ _outside the local Wal-Mart..."_

 _"… suicide bomber confirmed… "_

 _"… mutant…"_

 _"… survivors?…"_

* * *

Past the activists and idealists, the reporters and protestors, Nora stumbled her way through the chaos.

She stepped around one cameraman, his gaze locked on capturing what would come to be known as the 'primary source'.

The primary source: for hatred of mutants.

None of that mattered to Nora as she pushed past a news reporter. He too was engrossed in the horror that had befallen the Cincinnati Wal-Mart.

Near the ambulances—pointless as they were—she found the bags.

They were black, as to not reveal the blood. White sheets wouldn't have worked quite as well.

Nora unzipped each one. Some took more inspection; they were just that disassembled.

Once she found what remained of Danielle, Nora let herself collapse into a fit of tears.

Stupid and foolish, Nora had waited two days before going to look for her. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't go back and change it.

* * *

The laws were becoming more frequent these days.

Restrictions on the usage of powers. Referendums on the identification of 'enhanced individuals'. The dubbing of 'mutant' or 'mutie' as a slur, and, in more classy establishments: a brand.

Peter and Wanda had long-since left their father behind. When he'd re-enlisted the support of Mystique (thus rendering a lesser need for their powerful abilities) they'd seen their out and taken it without question.

As the number of conflicts between the X-Men and the Brotherhood grew, they drew further apart.

The last time they'd spoke Wanda had told him she was getting married. Peter was happy that she'd found a woman strong enough to handle her… strange habits.

Wanda hadn't invited him; he wouldn't have accepted if she had. They weren't that close anymore.

Today was the anniversary of the first-known Freeloader bombing. For most, it meant an extra article in the newspaper, or an additional and unwanted lecture from teachers and parents.

 _"Fear the mutant, for it is a menace."_

When the Cold War sputtered to an end, Peter though that some semblance of trust would be re-established amongst the American people. To his disappointment, a new kind of fear had arisen. Communists were no longer the prosecuted class: a new scapegoat had been found.

Peter spent most of his time traveling around the world. From Nepal to Manchester, Vancouver to Sydney, he carried her description in mind and picture in hand.

Short, brown-haired, and with pale skin; it was an average description. That made it difficult. Many people said they recognized her face—or, as he eventually found out: knew someone with her features.

As Peter searched and searched, his hope began to dwindle. Every false tip, every wayward lead only seemed to take him further from her.

And one cold April morning he was hit with a sudden thought.

 _What if she isn't in this century?_

That revelation drove him to the television, and it was there that he found her.

 _"_ _I am here at the memorial site of the first Freeloader hit, where a woman appeared late last night. Our eyewitness, Kadin Jonas, is here with me now."_

The reporter held out his microphone to the greasy man in the chef's uniform.

 _"_ _Like I said, Mister, I was just takin' out the garbages when there was this, uh, glowin' over at the site… I went n' checked it out 'cus I thought it might be another one of them 'muties back to blow up more of my city."_

Peter sat up straighter in the armchair. In a motion as fast as lightning he grabbed the remote and dialed up the volume.

 _"…_ _anything unusual about the woman you found, Kadin?"_

The chef shook his head, laughing. _"Nothing—besides that she was without her clothing, I mean! That and the light… I knew she had to be one of them so I-"_

Peter turned off the TV. He ran out of the hotel, leaving the soda can spinning on the table.

* * *

Someone (or maybe she) had cut her hair. Peter couldn't help but smile. She looked a little crazy with it short like that.

From what he heard through the nurses, she hadn't spoken since being brought in.

Peter had also heard that the 'higher-ups' had been contacted.

That never meant anything good.

He had a minute with her. His hair had changed too, but it was still the same silver-grey as before.

She barely registered his entering the room. She thought he was just another doctor.

"… Nora?"

Her brow furrowed. What did he say?

"Nora, is that you? It's me, er, I mean, it's Peter."

 _Peter and Nora._ Those were names she recognized. Was _she_ Nora?

She didn't mind when he touched her hand; it didn't hurt like when the doctors did.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

She seemed to consider his words, then nodded.

Peter positioned one arm around her back, carefully sliding the other under her knees. The hospital gown slid up her thigh, exposing the sallow flesh underneath.

When Peter held her against his chest, her shaking hands clutched at him. They found purchase on his jacket and stilled—if only a little.

"I've got you… I got you…" he murmured. She didn't seem to hear him.

As the door to the room opened Peter ran out of the hospital, far away to an isolated place.

* * *

"Nora. That's my name?"

Peter looked up from the stove, moving the pan from the open element.

She was seated at the kitchen table, hand poised over a half-filled sheet of paper. Preparing to write it down again, she looked to him for confirmation.

"Yeah," he repeated, "N-O-R-A."

She nodded, calculating the thought, then let the pen scribble across the paper. Even her cursive wasn't the same.

 _Nora. Nora. nORA._ After the third time she cringed and put a hand to her ear.

Peter turned off the stove. "You all right?"

Her head shook back and forth. "… Hurts…" A low rumble began to grow in the house. The source: her.

Peter stopped making the quesadilla and appeared beside her.

"Am I-" She gasped and her pupils were suddenly lined with gold.

"It's okay, it's okay," Peter assured her.

Hand supporting her back, he helped her to the bed. Nora tried to keep his grip in hers, but he cautiously pried his fingers away.

"No, no… stay, please…" Despite being nearly forty-three, Nora hardly spoke in complete sentences anymore.

"I'll be here—I'll be _right_ here when you return."

Tears streamed down her face as the light began to consume her. "Promise?"

Peter promised, turning away as the light got too bright to bare.

* * *

The travels were getting more frequent.

Dangerous too; he was afraid that the house would be ripped apart one of these days.

Peter could only think of one man with the capability—and kindness—to help her.

To Peter's joy—and Nora's perplexment—he welcomed them with open arms. And for a time, they were at peace. Nora was able to begin an unsteady recovery, helped onward by the Professor's vast mental abilities, and Peter was finally able to stop searching.

They were together; happy _and safe,_ for once.

-And then the Sentinels were released.

Everything happened in what felt like a month: the attack on the school; the toppling of their reliable governments; so. Many. Mutants… All dead.

By chance, Wanda was found, in what they assumed had been her home, clutching a body they assumed to have been her wife. Neither of them were found alive.

On the brink of near-full recovery, Nora found herself plunged back by Peter's grief. His twin… Her sister: all they had were each other, now, truly alone.

It was a mistake to return to Westchester. Holed up in a place for too long made it easier for the Sentinels to find them.

Magneto never gave her the details of Peter's death—only that it had happened.

All at once, everything fell apart andinto place at the same time. Nora began her impromptu time-traveling (assisted by the most powerful telepath ever known), guiding her younger self on a better path.

To her surprise, Logan showed up, solidifying the better future.

And as she lay dying on a mountain a few hundred miles from that fateful monastery, Nora let her mind wander for the first time in years.

Danielle… Peter… Erik… Wanda… All broken relations; all lives too important to measure. Every single one of them: gone.

At least, in this timeline.

* * *

The door opened, pushed inward by a pale hand. A pair of shoes were deposited on the rack inside, soon followed by a coat on one of the three hooks.

A paper bag filled with groceries was placed on the kitchen countertop, with the dairy products immediately stowed in the fridge.

From the room adjacent to the kitchen, a voice called out, "Peter? Is that you?

A sigh. Followed by, "no, Mother. Just me."

There was no response. That was how their conversations went these days; mother asking for father, and then having to remind her that he… well, he was…

In the living room, the old woman sat comfortably in her armchair. She had first seen its make in a furniture store during the years of the second World War. Unfortunately, she had been whisked away before she'd been able to purchase one.

The woman had spent many months tracking down the company's successors.

It was difficult to find such a quality chair in the twenty-first century, and as her bones were so weak, she needed something sturdy, capable, and comfortable.

"Mother? Is everything all right?"

Her child stepped into the brightly-lit room. She looked up at them and smiled.

She'd had the most strange of dreams. It had been quite exciting, with daring chases, lust-filled romances, and losses too heavy to bare.

Somehow, it seemed familiar. 'Deja vu', as some might say.

She remembered having dreams like that more often when she was young. How she missed those days.

"Mum?"

She tilted her neck upwards with some difficulty, and smiled softly. Her dearest child; hair dark like hers, with eyes as blue as his.

"Yes, my dear, everything is fine. Would you mind closing those blinds? The sunlight is getting a little too bright for me."

Her child stared at her strangely for a moment, then did as she asked.

Everything is indeed fine, she thought. There was nothing to worry about, after all, it had just been a dream.

…Right?


End file.
